


Words Left Unsaid

by jovialien



Series: MagicVerse [5]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Magic, Magicverse, not a high school AU Frank just goes there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:03:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovialien/pseuds/jovialien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life can be very weird sometimes.  Frank Iero would definitely have, up until about September, classed this year as the worst in his life ever.  But since moving towns, things have most certainly improved beyond all measure.</p><p>Unfortunately for Frank, the year isn't over yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.”
> 
> Harriet Beecher Stowe

Life can be very weird sometimes. Frank Iero would definitely have, up until about September, classed this year as the worst in his life ever. But since moving towns, things have most certainly improved beyond all measure. Now he

a) Has a school where he doesn't get beaten up every day, and actually has friends who want to sit with him at lunch and pass him notes in class.  
b) Has a boyfriend  
c) Has a gym teacher who doesn't mock him mercilessly but just lets him (and pretty much the whole class) do whatever they want, turning the worst lesson in the world into one of the better ones  
d) Has a really hot boyfriend  
e) Has a new set of best friends who have, for real, superpowers  
f) Has a really hot boyfriend with quite literally magic fingers  
g) Has a mom who seems to have chilled out a lot more now Thanksgiving is over and Christmas is approaching, which is kinda weird but hey, who said his family was normal?  
h) Did he mention he has a boyfriend?

All in all, life is pretty sweet, with a capital S and a double E which rhymes with Gee... Yep, the boyfriend is definitely what has tipped this year from being the worst ever to being the most awesomest, bestest, winningest, and lots of other words that Frank's pretty sure don't actually exist but fuck it, he's gonna use them anyway, year of all.

Unfortunately for Frank, the year isn't over yet.

****************************************

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking around like you expect to find a cauldron or something. This isn't the Way house, we don't casually display that shit.” Ray Toro leans back against the electric cooker with a smile and folds his arms across his chest as he gives Frank a stern look. “And we don't have a dungeon for a cellar either, just a regular one with old bikes and the laundry stuff in.”

“I knew that. I've just never seen your place before, just taking it in.” Frank grins back as he traces a finger along the counter, looking round the kitchen. It's not that clean, slight grease stains on the tiles and counter, a stack of unwashed breakfast dishes by the sink, and he can feel something on the bottom of his sock from the floor. There are signs of a chaotic departure, abandoned shoes by the front door in the hall, and the general feel of a largish family in a well loved home. “I'm not stupid,” he adds quickly, casual as he leans back against the side, “I don't expect every magic family to have that sort of stuff around or some, I dunno, magic den in their basement.”

“Good, because we don't.” Ray nods firmly, his face serious, then grins again. “It's in the attic.”

“You shitting me?” Frank lights up, bouncing across the kitchen like a muppet on acid, and places his hands on Ray's shoulders, jumping up and down. “Come on, show me, pleeeeeease Ray, show me!”

“It's a good thing Gerard isn't here to hear you say that,” Bob points out, strolling in as casually as if he lived there too, and throwing a bag of bottles and cans onto the table. “Toro, show him your magic balls and shut him up or he'll be jittery all night.”

Poking his tongue out at Bob as they pass, Frank nevertheless is almost dancing as Ray takes him upstairs. “Come on then, we have a little time before the Ways get here with the food, can't hurt to let you take a peek. Just... don't touch anything.”

“I do solemnly swear I am all good.”

“Yeah, right, that's not what Mikey says.”

“He's biased, and should keep out of my head if he doesn't like what he sees.” Frank shrugs as they reach the landing, Ray grabbing a pole and using it to open the hatch into the attic and get the ladder down. It wobbles slightly as they climb up, the space dark and echoey above them, but Ray clicks on a light as he steps off the ladder and by the time Frank emerges into the room it's softly lit and strangely welcoming, if a little chilly. His breath is misting a little in the air but he ignores that in favour of openly staring in amazement. 

It's just one large room, the sloping ceilings giving it a triangular look, but instead of bare rafters like in his house the walls have been plastered and converted into a proper room. A couple of empty camp beds are pushed against the end walls and there is the usual family clutter of boxes labelled things like Christmas decorations, school books, and clothes, but that isn't what catches Frank's eye.

It's the trunk. A full on, old fashioned, brightly decorated, traditional magician's trunk, like on TV and at bad children's parties. A couple of fake wands and exploding bunches of flowers are draped forlornly over it and a mannequin with a long velvet cape and hat stand guard over it. Ray grabs the hat and dusts it off a little, doing a flick with his wrist and rolling it up his arm before putting it back, then laughs at Frank's bemused expression.

“So,” Frank manages to get out, sitting on the edge of one of the camp beds and eyeing the mannequin suspiciously. “When you said magic room...”

“My dad's stuff is in the trunk, he used to do kid's parties and shit when we were younger, helped pay the bills. Was easy for him as he's a conjurer anyway.”

“He's... What?”

“A conjurer,” Ray grabs one of the fake wands and flourishes it, making the flowers appears out the end. “It's like teleporting, he can make small objects disappear and reappear where he wants them, like pulling a rabbit from a hat but instead of having a hidden compartment in the hat, he actually magics the rabbit from its hutch in the garden.”

“That's... A little creepy, but cool.”

“Yeah, my folks are a bit extreme, even for witches. Mom can levitate.”

“Levitate, as in-”

“Fly. My mom can fly.”

“You're messing with me!”

“Nope. Kinda freaks people out the first couple of times but you get used to it. Means she is beyond ninja stealthy when she sneaks around the house though, no creaking floorboards to warn you, man is it hard to get away with anything.”

Frank snorts, picturing a young Ray and his brothers messing around and being busted by an angry, floating mother. “Rough.”

“You have no idea,” Ray agrees, putting the wand down and heading behind a stack of boxes and beckoning Frank over. “Anyway, this is my corner. I stacked the boxes to try and get some privacy, but you know how it is with the family around.”

“No,” Frank admits, and Ray throws him a small smile as he motions him around the boxes. “Oh wow. That's more like it.”

The small coffee table is round and battered, dark wood stained with candlewax and old water rings, and set low down. A few cushions and a couple of bean bags are spread out around it for sitting on and Ray drops down into one even as Frank does the same to see better. There's a collection of leather boxes lined up against the corner where the roof meets the floor and Frank watches as Ray grabs one and brings it and a wooden ring from the floor to the table. Putting the ring on the table, he opens the box and pulls out a heavy crystal ball, dropping it into the ring where it sits easily.

“That was my first ball, pretty basic, but it's served me well, was great for practising with early on. I also have my mirrors,” he adds, pointing to a line of little hand mirrors hanging from hooks on the wall, “and you know about the tea leaves but I do that downstairs or at the coffee shop mostly, palms, you don't really need much although I did have to study up on the lines for that. That and dream interpretation, oh god and Tarot, seriously, I never did get the hang of that but the cards are pretty cool anyway.”

Frank just watches as Ray tosses a selection of well thumbed books onto the table, along with an ornate set of Tarot cards that are held together with what looks like one of Ray's elastic hairbands that Frank's seen him use when working on the Haunted House.

“Oh and candles of course.”

“Huh?”

“Candles.” Ray grabs a small selection of candles from a bag and forces one into a stubby glass candlestick, lighting it easily with a lighter from his jeans pocket. Placing it on the table he shrugs. “Candles are a big thing with seeing, candlelight is best for scrying, that's using crystals, mirrors or water bowls to see things, although candle flames themselves are good for it too, and even their smoke. Plus there's this cool thing where you drop wax into cold water and interpret the shapes.”

“Awesome, does it work?”

“Not for me.” Ray flushes slightly and blows the candle out again, licking his fingertips and pinching the wick afterwards to make sure it's fully dead before leaving it carefully in the middle of the table. “I'm not great with anything you have to interpret, I do better with actually seeing what's going to happen, like a 'next time on' trailer on a TV show.”

“So what, your crystal ball's just got loads of spoilers on?”

“Sort of.” Putting the first ball away, Ray selects another box, tapping two others with his fingers as he goes. “That one is smaller, my travel size one as my Mom calls it, that one you will probably recognise, the third one was a present, my brother found it whilst travelling, it's a proper antique and probably pretty powerful, but I've just never really taken to it, the connection wasn't there. Pity really, it has an awesome brass stand. But this one,” he opens the box and pulls out a large crystal ball, bigger than the ones Frank has seen him use before, and it has its own stand attached to the ball, an intricate web of silver metal that looks too delicate to support the weight. “This is new still, dad took me to buy it after the whole business with Mr B, but it's my favourite.”

“Oooo, it's pretty.”

Laughing, Ray nods and stands the ball on the table. “You could say that, but I like this one because it chose me.”

“No way, you've been reading too much Harry Potter.” Frank traces his fingertips over the surface of the ball and squints at it. A large crack inside the ball, a flaw in the glass itself, seems to flicker as his fingers cast a shadow over it then move on.

“Hey, sometimes J.K gets it right, wouldn't surprise me if there is magic in her family somewhere.”

“So who used muggle first?” Frank asks slyly, the tip of his tongue poking out as he peers up at Ray through his lashes.

“Okay, so we stole the word, so shoot me.”

“What did you say before?”

Ray pauses, thinking, before shrugging to himself. “Varies really, depends on the collectives. Outsiders, normals, others, mundanes was in fashion for a while in the nineties. I dunno really, it's not like we all get together once a year at a big meeting and agree on these things, they just... happen.”

“I guess. Bit like any insult really, goes through phases.”

“Hey,” Ray says sadly, a little hurt, “it's not an insult, it's not like that.”

Chuckling, Frank folds his arms and gets comfy on his cushion. “Hey yourself, it's not like witch is a stunning compliment or anything. 'Sides, more importantly Toro, now you got your balls out, you wanna try your luck with me? Come on, fifteen thousandth time's the charm.”

Grinning at the challenge, Ray nods, shifting his legs a little and settling more firmly into his bean bag, hands held flat against the table. “I will read you one day Iero.”

“Come and get it big boy.” 

“Go turn out the lights, and let's see what you got, runt.”

Grinning as Frank obeys, Ray relights the candle and sets it to the side, between himself and Frank, the light flickering over the table as he starts to concentrate – or 'zone in' as Mikey calls it. This is his favourite place to see, the room familiar and comforting enough to ground him, but far enough away from the noise and footprints of his family, reality, and the mundanity of the TV to let go. It took him time to find the right spot in the room, the boxes marking out his territory as much as identifying the most 'sympathetic' spot in the house. This was the spot he was more accurate in, and this was his favourite ball for reading. Maybe this time Frank would make sense to him.

Letting his eyes adjust to the soft shimmer of the candlelight, Ray watches as Frank drops back into the seat opposite him and stretches out his hands, mirroring Ray's pose and resting flat on the table either side of his. For once his grin is gone, his face blank and still as he relaxes, not watching Ray, just focusing on the ball. Settled, Ray takes a deep breath and focuses.

It's not like watching the trailers, no matter how much he might like to try and convince Frank of that, but more like seeing something out of the corner or your eye and not being entirely certain what you see, or deja vu, a sudden memory being triggered. Or maybe when your eyes water and things flicker in and out of focus with each blink. It's hard to explain what he sees, but it's even harder to try and put it into words in his own head. It just is.

The crack in the glass draws him in, a lightning bolt of flame guiding him, dragging him deeper into the cloudy depths of the ball. When he is playing to the crowd, he waves his hands around and makes odd noises, but now he is completely still, silent, focused. 

The first image, or sound, or thought, he's never quite sure what it is, comes to him and it's Frank, definitely, the feel of him right but the smell is wrong, it's crisp and cold and wintery. 

“It's cold, dark, outside I think...”

Photo flashes of grey and darkness flicker through the crystal and Ray doesn't even feel the frown on his face as he focuses. The image sharpens, the feeling growing, and there's Gerard, hair thrown back from his face, eyes closed, and Ray fights the urge to look away, one too many glimpses of his friend's love life making him hesitant.

“Gerard...”

“Whoops,” Frank whispers back, trying not to smile.

That's not it though, the feel is wrong, cold, not warm, no desire or lust, just-

“Fear,” Ray whispers, a shiver running through his body that he doesn't even feel. He doesn't see Frank's gaze flicker to his face before returning to the ball, or the way Frank's fingertips start to whiten against the wood of the table. “You're scared, and talking to someone, I can't-”

There's a shadow, indistinct and blurry on the edge of his vision, hiding in the corner of his eye, and every time he tries to catch it, it shifts away. 

“You're holding Gee, he-”

A sudden flash, crystal clear, of drops of clear liquid falling unnoticed into silvery grass.

“He's not afraid, he's- Peaceful, still.”

“Doesn't sound like Gee,” Frank mutters, keeping still as he can. Ray's predictions sometimes go a bit horror film worthy, but so far no hooded boogeymen have broken through his living room window so hey, maybe they should just cut down on the horror fests a bit. 

“There's someone else, someone dark and-” Ray pauses, and suddenly spots a reflection of the shadow, a flare of light like that blue flash effect all the films keep using, like there's someone hiding on the other side of his vision, peeking out of the gloom. This time when he flicks his gaze that way a face smiles at him and fucking _waves_ , a figure that looks weirdly familiar yet not and-

“It's a pirate.”

Frank snorts, unable to hold back, and it takes all his willpower not to lift his hands from the table.

“A pirate.”

Wincing, Ray blinks and the image shifts, clearing, and there, clear as day, for just a split second is Frank and Gerard, wrapped around each other somewhere dark, whilst a pirate stands over them as though about to start a duel, and another figure is perching on top of something, looking down and flipping off the pirate. It's ridiculous, it's crazy, it's definitely a crossed wire, it's-

Bert.

Gasping, Ray pushes back from the table as though burning, and whacks his head against the boxes, startling Frank who has to lunge to save the candle.

“Fuck, Ray, you trying for dramatic effect, 'cause you're preaching to the choir here dude.” Righting the candle, Frank stands up, clicking the lights back on and chasing away the vision even as Ray blinks back into awareness.

“Sorry,” he mutters at last, running his hands over (what, you think they will go _through_ ) his hair and shaking his head. “Dunno what the Hell that was.”

“Pirates.”

Nodding, Ray smiles sheepishly. “Maybe we do a bit of a themed Halloween next year, huh?”

“Or a costume party for new years.” Frank carefully schools his face to look innocent but there is no disguising the wicked glint in his eyes. “Or maybe Gee has a thing for dress up that goes beyond Halloween...”

“Eww.” Blowing out the candle and pinching the wick again, wiping soot off on his jeans, Ray carefully extricates himself from the table. “TMI Frankie.”

“I haven't even started yet baby, come on, let's go tell Bob that you reckon I'm gonna get mugged by pirates!”

Watching as Frank starts to clamber back down the ladder, Ray sighs and follows. “I think if it's a pirate then technically it would be a pillaging rather than a mugging. Or maybe a plundering-”

“Nope,” Frank calls back cheerfully, “only one plundering my booty, shivering my timbers, or doing anything to my plank is Gee and he's not home yet.”

“This is gonna be a long evening.” Closing up the attic, Ray stands and listens for a minute as Bob's low chuckle echoes up from below and concentrates on the feel of the house around him. He's safe, he's fine, he's home. And there are definitely no pirates here.

As for Bert, well, Ray very sincerely hopes he isn't around or there will be a whole heap of trouble ahead.

********************************************

“Hi Mom, yeah, we're fine, no we haven't trashed the place,” Ray says quickly, smiling into the phone as he dodges around the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses. Mikey's just texted to say they're on the way, so he doesn't have long, and Bob and Frank are chatting in the living room so he's on his own for a few minutes. Which is, of course, the moment when his parents call. “Yeah, yeah, no, good to know you got there safely. Give my love to Gran and tell Uncle Jim he still owes me twenty bucks and has lousy taste in football teams.”

Laughing, Ray clatters the plates on the table and grabs cutlery, even though he knows he's just going to be putting it away again in an hour or two. What, he's trying to be a good host. He doesn't get to do it very often, having the house to himself a very, very rare thing. Usually he would have gone to his grandparents for the post thanksgiving, pre christmas get together and present swap, but this year... He just wasn't feeling it, and with his brothers not going anyway it wouldn't have been the same.

“Yeah, course, I'll be good, no wild parties, seriously, it's just the guys, we're just hanging out, no girls I promise.” Ray listens, wincing and shaking his head. “Eww, no, mom, thanks for the vote of all inclusive confidence but no, none of that either. Well, not from me anyway. I'm not vouching for Gerard but I promise I'll keep him out of the bedrooms.”

Chortling, he pulls the phone away from his ear for a second at the sound of his mom's raucous laughter and sighs. “Mom. Mom. Mom, I gotta go, the food will be here any minute, I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Love you all! Bye!”

Hanging up, Ray shudders and chuckles to himself before loading up the stack of plates and forks and heading through to the living room, gaze flicking between Frank and Bob as he slides his burden onto the table and listens to their conversation. It only takes a second to realise it's another round of Magic 101 and he throws himself down into a chair to listen properly. Bob is always a fun one when he's trying to explain stuff...

“So hang on,” Frank says, leaning back into the sofa cushions, “I thought a coven and a collective were the same thing? A group of witches and other magic folks, right?”

“They are but they're not, it's different, it's just...” Bob just glances at Ray and gives him the 'it's your turn' look. Ray nods back and with a sigh of relief Bob raids the cutlery and starts spinning a fork through the air, sending it end over end from one hand to the other as though throwing it, but in slow motion. Thinking, Ray shrugs and takes over, wondering just how much Bob has sat through already to give up now.

“A collective,” Ray explains slowly, trying to find the right words for something that is as natural to him as his family, “is a large group of MagicKind, both individuals and sub groups, so you get families, covens, uni wiccan groups, that sort of thing. Basically it's a more the merrier kind of thing for magic folks. The right ones anyway.”

“Right ones?”

“Who use magic for good,” Ray clarifies quickly, “dark magics leave a, a mark, like a stain on the soul, and it's not good for the witch or anyone around them so most serious dark users are banned from collectives. Plus you gotta make sure everyone is genuine and not just emo sorority girls who want to feel special or WitchFinders.”

“WitchFinders?”

Bob winces and this time it's Ray's turn to be at a loss to explain, his mouth hanging open. “Uh-”

“Non magic folk who really, really, don't like us,” Bob says. “Think of the most red necked homophobic assholes you can, imagine them at a gay pride march, then cross them with the Spanish Inquisition and you get the idea.”

“But organised,” Ray adds, “just as our skills are passed through the family, they are taught to fear and hate magic from a young age. Mostly it's jealousy, rich old families who once upon a time would have allied themselves with witches for power or protection and then either got screwed over by dark witches or we got fed up of being used by them. So instead of getting over it, they want to get even.”

“How even?”

“Beatings,” Bob says casually, “a few lynchings, especially back when they could be disguised as racist or homophobic crimes. Some families disappear and we never know if they ran away and went into hiding or got taken.”

“Taken?” Frank squeaks, staring back and forth between them. “You fucking serious?”

“That's mostly old school,” Ray tries to reassure him. “Nowadays the collectives are organised enough to hide our tracks and create safe communities like this one. And the WitchFinders reckon it's more fun to out us and get us cast out of our homes than kill us, they want us desperate and alone and vulnerable enough that we will work for them again. We just have to be careful not to stand out.”

“Yeah, or curse the football team-”

“I read about that!” Frank perks up, “I read it online somewhere.”

“So did some WitchFinders,” Bob says darkly. “Was a rough few months.”

Frank shudders in sympathy, wondering what they went through, but the looks on their faces making it clear it was a difficult subject. “So, uh... Covens, they're small collectives? Like a family?”

“They're more than that,” Ray says with a small smile. “A coven is a group of male or female witches or MagicKind – mixed groups are rare, it's usually single sex – who don't just all have magic or get on, but when they are together it's... It's more than the sum of its parts.”

Frank look blanks and Bob snorts. “He means that whilst a witch can be powerful alone, when she finds her coven her powers grow, like, to the power of, grow. As a group a coven can be incredibly powerful, but flip side is, what hurts one hurts all of them. It's supposed to be pretty intense.”

“So you're not a coven?”

“Maybe some day,” Ray says wistfully, “covens are usually at least five or six witches, seven is better.”

“He's hoping his brothers will join us,” Bob explains, “they opted to go travelling when they got their powers, learning from other groups and that finding themselves shit, so we haven't really hung out with them long enough to test compatibility.”

“That would be awesome,” Frank grins, “although the thought of a more powerful Mikey is terrifying, it's weird enough having him in my head as it is.”

Ray snorts, giggling in his oddly high pitched way and nods. “I'll give you that.” Checking his watch, he sighs. “Seriously, they should be back with that takeout by now-” A thud from the front door makes them all cheer. “Speak of the devils!”

“We come bearing gifts!” Gerard announces as he explodes through the door, throwing the bags down onto the table. “Food from the Orient and much hearty mead!” With a grin, he leans over and kisses the top of Frank's head before sliding into the seat beside him, Mikey perching on the arm of the sofa and handing his bag off to Ray. The conversation is forgotten in the flurry of dishes and cartons being passed back and forth and the clip of chopsticks and forks and clink of the bottle opener. 

It doesn't take them long to demolish the food, a growing mound of empty containers forming on the table as they start to sink further into the furniture, full and content – not content enough to avoid arguing over the last spring roll as usual, but, also as usual, the argument only lasts long enough for Bob to reach out and float the roll into the air, shortly followed by his mouth.

Also, as usual, he ends up spilling half of it down his front but nobody cares.

With a sleepy groan, Bob floats his used fork onto the table and stands up, stretching himself out as Ray starts to gather up the mess and refill the drinks. “Iero, make yourself useful and chuck me my cigarettes, I want one before we get started on the movie.”

“Usually Frank wants one after we get finished,” Gerard teases as he waggles his eyebrows at Frank, making him laugh as he grabs Bob's jacket, digging through the pockets for the cigarettes. They are tucked deep inside the pocket, a couple of pieces of paper folded up and caught in the lining making it hard to pull them out. In the end he has to wriggle and pull the whole lot out to get them, tossing the packet to Bob and fumbling the rest, a couple of pieces of paper and strips of gum spilling to the floor. 

“Jeez Bob, don't you ever throw anything out?” Grabbing it all, Ray laughs as he spots the money off coupon for pizza that expired last year, then his laugh dies as he spots the other sheet. It was folded up but has come open enough to show a section of a face, the pencil drawn eye regarding them all. “Oh.”

The others look round, something in the tone of his voice drawing their attention, and Frank is startled as Gerard sees the paper, goes pale then gets up and walks out, Mikey quickly following him.

“What the-” Frank starts.

“Bob, why-” Ray starts, unfolding the sheet fully and staring at it.

“Gee drew a load of them, I just wanted one,” Bob shrugs, unconcerned. “He knows I have it, it's not like I'm carrying round a naked polaroid of his ex, it's just a drawing-”

“His ex?” Frank shouts, reaching for the paper, and frowning as it whips through the air and back towards Bob. “Oh come on, man, it's not like I thought I was the first or anything. I'm a big boy.”

Bob considers, looking at Ray who just shrugs. “Show him. Can't do any harm.”

Relenting, Bob floats the picture back over again and Frank sticks his tongue out, grabbing it and taking a look. “Thanks, least I get to see if Gee's got a... type. Wait, this is his ex?”

The picture isn't the best of Gee's he's ever seen, there's a touch of haste or emotion in the pencil strokes that adds passion but takes away accuracy. Even so, the hair is the same, the face definitive, the cleft in the chin exactly the same. The picture doesn't show matted hair and zombie clothes but it's definitely him, the ghoul from the cemetery who likes jumping out at people. And who, apparently, used to date Gerard...

“Yeah, that's Bert.” Ray hesitates, as though wondering how much to say. “He and Gee were dating for a couple of years, but when Gee got his powers Bert didn't take it very well.”

“I'll bet,” Frank mutters, “he said he knew Gerard but didn't exactly mention he knew him like _that_ when he warned me off, makes a bit more sense now-”

“What?” Ray and Bob ask simultaneously.

“Bert,” Frank says with a shrug, waving the paper, “I met him on Halloween, and the night Mrs B got hurt, seen him a couple of times in the distance lately but I just avoid him, little fucker thinks it's fun to jump out on people in cemeteries-”

“Frank, you-”

“That's not funny, Frank-”

“That's what I told him but he certainly finds it amusing as Hell,” Frank says.

“No, Frank,” Ray manages to get out, taking the picture back and holding it up. “I mean you can't have seen _this_ guy, you can't have seen _Bert_.”

“Well then I saw his identical evil twin,” Frank jokes, rolling his eyes as they look worried. “Oh come on, I met Gee's ex, small town like this, that must happen right?”

“Not Bert,” Bob says.

“Frank, Bert... He and Gee didn't break up exactly. They,” Ray looks really freaked out and, almost as though he's shouted, suddenly Mikey is back, almost throwing himself round the door and staring at them all. Bob stares back and Frank guesses is probably filling him in on whatever the big deal is that nobody is fucking telling him about. Which, great, whilst it's good to know _somebody_ knows what's going on, it would be really great if they did it out loud so the rest of the class could keep up.

“Will someone tell me what the Hell is going on?” Frank snaps at last, then stops as Gerard comes in. Gerard makes to go to Frank then stops as Mikey grabs Gerard's hand, holding him back. The look on Mikey's face, as though he needs to protect Gee from Frank, is enough to calm Frank down, his hands held out to reassure them. “Look, it's fine, I saw Bert, he was a little bit of a creep but y'know, cemetery on Halloween, it was pretty much in character.”

“You saw Bert,” Gerard whispers.

“Yes!”

Mikey steps forward, grabbing Frank's hands and staring at him hard, frightening him with the intensity. “Show me.”

It's not a request, it's a command, and Frank wants to resist on principle until they fucking explain themselves. Instead, concentrating, Frank tries not to react to the faint brush of Mikey's mind against his. He can feel Mikey's anxiety brushing off on him and making his heart pound even as he focuses on the memory, showing Mikey what he saw as best he can. “See?”

Mikey lets go and steps back, wrapping an arm around Gerard and placing his free hand in his, letting Gee hold on. “It's true. It was Bert.”

“Holy shit,” Ray breathes, collapsing down onto a chair but missing and ending up on the floor.

“You guys are freaking me the fuck out, just tell me what the big deal is!” Frank shouts at last, staring at Gee who can't quite meet his eyes. “Please, you're scaring the shit out of me here, whatever it is, I can help, just tell me!”

“Frank,” Mikey says quietly, his fingers going white from where Gerard is squeezing too hard, “Bert's dead. He died, in a car crash, like, four years ago.”

Frank looks down at the picture in his hand and frowns. “Oh.”


	2. Chapter 2

Frank can feel them talking, a soft buzzing of voices above him and in his head, Mikey's voice bleeding through in stereo, but Frank isn't paying attention. He's still staring at the picture in his hand, frowning at it. The guy in the picture isn't bad looking exactly, and the creepiness that he picked up on is gone, something softer around the eyes, in the smile. That smile, that was a smile that was meant for someone. For Gee. It feels weird, perverted, to be staring at a picture of his boyfriend's dead ex, like he's stepping on something sacred.

Except he's _met_ him. He's seen a dead guy. 

“What does this mean?” He asks quietly, no one noticing until he looks at Mikey and thinks his name. Mikey stops talking and holds up a hand, quieting them until they are all staring at Frank. All of them except for Gerard that is, who seems to be incapable of lifting his head up from his hands, hunched in the corner. Frank partly wants to go to him, partly just wants to be left alone, but mostly wants answers. Problem is, he doesn't even know the right question to ask. “I saw a ghost. So, what, has hanging around you guys made me able to see things or what?”

“Muggles _can't_ see ghosts,” Ray states simply, shrugging and throwing Mikey a helpless look, as though hoping to be contradicted. “I mean, yeah, they might sometimes get a bit of it, a whisper or maybe a quick glimpse, but what you- Only witches can actually interact with them. Even then they usually have a spirit guide to help, but to have a whole conversation, to actually _touch_ a ghost, you have to be...”

“You have to be a witch,” Gerard says flatly, dropping his arms to rest them on his knees as he looks up at last, his face half hidden by his hair and his eyes flat as he stares through Frank.

“No,” Frank says quickly, holding out his hand and getting up, starting to pace, “no, see, you all said there are no muggle born witches, that it has to be genetic, it has to be in the family, that's what you all told me-”

“Yes.”

“Well, if it was in my family I would _know_ , so you're wrong, I can't be, it's something else.”

“Adopted?” Mikey suggests, and Frank snorts.

“Nope, not with this face.”

“So,” Bob says simply, folding his arms, “one of your parents is a witch.”

“Dad,” Frank says quickly, seizing on it and nodding, still pacing, his fingers tapping against his thighs, “it's got to be dad, that's the answer then, I... I'll go see him, I can go see him, tell him what's happened and he-”

“Frank,” Ray says kindly, holding out a hand to him, “it's far more likely-”

“I need to get a car, I, I can get a car, or a train, maybe a bus, there's gotta be a bus heading that way-”

“Frank-”

“I want-” Frank still, every word slightly staggered but solid. “I want to see my dad. Either one of you takes me, or... Or I'll steal a car and wind up in jail,” Frank giggles, the sound slightly too close to the edge of hysteria to be comfortable and Ray frowns, Mikey wincing at the sound, “and you know what they'll do to me in jail-”

“Fuck, Frank-” Bob starts but Frank laughs again.

“Yeah, exactly!”

“I'll drive you,” Ray says quietly, but Mikey shakes his head, reaching out to grab his hand and Frank is angry, irrationally so, that Mikey is trying to stop him, why can't they just help? It's not like he's asking for much-

“Frankie,” Gerard whispers, “it's not your dad you need to see, your mom-”

“No!” Frank snaps, furious, shaking his head as he stops pacing and glares at them, their pitying looks, their faces, like they know anything about her, like they know more about his family, about _him_ than he does. “It's _not_ her, you said, you said that it's rare for guys to pass it on, that it usually stops the line, so that's it, see, if... If I have to be a Witch then that's it, why no one told me, they thought I _couldn't_ be-”

“You said your mom hates magic,” Mikey starts but Frank carries on over him, pacing again, his movements manic and breathing fast.

“See, it has to be my dad, it has to, and mom, she... She hates magic because... Because it reminds her of him, that's all, she must've found out dad was a witch and, and that's it, that's why, it's dad, maybe that's even why they broke up, and it's so rare for dads to pass it on they never thought-”

“She could've passed her powers on to you and lost them herself-” Gerard whispers, his voice so low he shouldn't have been audible over Frank's breathing let alone his angry voice, but Frank snaps at him again, a slight whine to his breathing.

“No, it can't have been that way, it can't because-” Frank gulps for air but it's not enough, nowhere near, but he can't stop now. “Because-” another gasp, the thin trickle barely reaching his lungs, but he doesn't care, every last breath in his body rushing out along with his words, “because then she has _lied_ to me my whole fucking life and she would've _known_ as soon as I was seventeen that this would happen and _she would have told me_ , so it can't be that, it can't, it just-” 

He's on fire, his chest empty and he can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything, the panic gripping him tight and he doesn't care, he doesn't fucking care, let it take him because what's the point, what's the fucking point in _any_ of it- 

Frank doesn't even notice when their statue impressions break and Gee stands up, Frank's vision blurred, not really seeing anything but suddenly there's warmth, arms wrapping around him and holding him firm, stilling his frantic movements, hands on his back and he can't, he just can't-

His knees buckle but Gee is there, catching him, holding him tight and lowering him down to the floor even as the others go in a rush, leaving them alone. Frank grips onto Gee, white knuckled as he tries to breathe, nothing getting through, but then he feels it, warmth and it's like Gee's hands are fire or ice, he doesn't even have any words for how they feel against him. It tingles, not like when Gee's shields are pushing Frank away, but like blood rushing back into tired muscles and suddenly he can breathe again, his lungs flooding with oxygen as he tries to relax.

“Let go-”

“No,” Gerard whispers, his voice shaky but soft, soothing, “not until you calm down and breathe and stop scaring me you little shit-”

“Oh great, you just want to heal me, what's the matter, am I winding you up-” Frank wriggles, trying to break free. He doesn't want it, doesn't need it.

“No, Frank, for fuck's sake, I want to help you, just stop fighting me!”

Giving in at last, the fight draining from him at last, spent and suddenly so, so tired, Frank stills, focusing on the rasp of his breath and the pounding in his head. It begins to fade, the tingle through his body spreading warmth and it's wonderful and soothing and lovely but he doesn't _want_ it, doesn't want to feel better, it's all unreal enough as it is, he needs the pain to let him know it's real. As soon as he has his breathing under control, he pushes away, throwing Gee off.

“Frank, your head-”

“Fuck my head, I'll take a pill, just- leave me alone.”

“Frankie-”

“No you can't, you can't fix me, you can't fix this! This is my problem-”

“You are not a problem Frank,” Gerard grabs his shoulders again, half shaking him until Frank finally meets his gaze again. “This is not your fault, and if- If your parents knew and didn't tell you, they, there has to be a good reason-”

“What if there isn't-” Frank ducks his head again and shivers, his tense shoulders rising and falling under Gee's fingers. “Suppose I should look on the bright side, least this way now you can come clean to your folks about me, now I'm one of you it's all better, right? No more shame on the collective-”

“Fuck you, Frank!” Gerard exclaims, pushing back and scuttling away from him, wrapping his arms around himself, his skin flashing blue for a second. “When have I _ever_ \- I wouldn't- I'm not _ashamed_ of you, not for being a muggle or because I'm gay or anything like that.”

“You didn't wanna date me 'cause I'm normal-”

“I didn't want to date you because I was _terrified!_ I thought-” Gerard uncurls one hand, watching in blank horror at the sparks shooting between his fingers as he tries to calm down. “I could really hurt you Frankie, and I couldn't do that, I didn't want to risk that again! Bert...” Gerard takes a deep breath and curls in on himself again, saying the words he has kept just in head forever. “Bert died because of _me_ Frank, because of who and what I am, and I can't- I can't do that again.”

“Yeah, well,” Frank shrugs, crawling back over to sit beside him, pressing up against his side and ignoring the static shock prickle of his shields. “Looks like anything that happens to me will be my parents' fault and not yours-”

“Frankie,” Gerard whispers, wrapping an arm around him at last, still shivering slightly as the shocks die down. “Your mom-”

“It can't be her,” Frank manages to whisper at last, shaking his head against Gee's shoulder. “Gee, she's my mom, she's all I've got...”

“We'll get your dad instead,” Gerard says quickly, “you're right, it could be him, 'course it could, it's rare, but it could, or- Or maybe it _is_ possible to skip a generation or something. I mean, Ray just thought he had weird dreams, if he hadn't had a magic family- They might just not know themselves-”

“This was all so much cooler when it was happening to you guys and not me,” Frank murmurs back, his face buried in Gee's neck, his hair, afraid to look up and break the spell. “And I really really wish it didn't have to be your ex-”

“Bert,” Gee whispers, a catch in his voice as he hugs Frank tight.

“Fuck,” Frank sniffs, “are you okay?”

Laughing, Gerard shakes his head, nuzzling back in return. “No.”

“Good, that makes two of us.”

*****************************

The others wait in silence outside the door, Mikey flanked by Bob and Ray, their hands supportively clasped tight in his, but it isn't enough to hold back the strength of Frank's thoughts. He can feel it all, his fear and confusion breaking over Mikey like surf. It's a rip tide of current, threatening to pull him away if he lets go of the lifeline that is his friends, if he doesn't focus on them, on the sound of their voices in his head-

Like a switch being pressed or being hoisted out of the water, Frank's thoughts vanish and it's just Bob and Ray, their gentle soothing presence breaking through instead, sweet air to his mind and soul. Taking a deep breath, Mikey sags a little, tension leaving him, and squeezes their hands then lets go, motioning them into the kitchen with a nod.

“Gee's blocking him,” Mikey whispers after gulping most of a glass of water in one go, his fingers shaking a little and his head pounding from the intensity of Frank's emotions.

“Maybe he _is_ muggle born,” Bob suggests at last, shrugging. “First time for everything, 'sides, it might just be an urban legend that it doesn't happen. Or maybe his grandparents-”

“It's his mom,” Mikey says quietly, firm, “and Frank knows it, he fucking knows it, but he's just not ready to face her yet. He needs...” Mikey thinks, sorting through the mix of thoughts and feelings he's picked up. “He needs to see his dad, he was right about that.”

“His dad must have some answers right?” Rays says, “I mean, they were married, he had to know.”

“I think... I think that's what Frank needs to find out.”

“Then we get his dad here,” Bob says gruffly, his usual expression tinged with anger. “He can sort this fucking mess out.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

“Be right back,” Bob says with a tight grin and heads out, the soft pad of his footsteps stopping outside the living room door. Peering down the corridor, Mikey watches as Bob concentrates, his hand outstretched Jedi style at the gap between the door and frame. The soft murmur of Gerard's voice is incomprehensible but the tone all too familiar to Mikey from nights spent sitting up, unable to sleep through the roar in his mind, Gerard's voice a lifeline keeping the tiny thread of Mikey's sanity from snapping.

The tone never alters, never changes, but Mikey gets a sudden flash of Gerard, just a split second, all the gap he can give, but Mikey knows Gee has seen what they're up to – and approves.

Bob withdraws, Frank's cellphone in his hand, and silently offers it to Ray.

“Why me?” Ray squeaks, taking it all the same.

“'Cause, I sound like an axe murderer, Mikey has the shakes so bad he'll just drop the fucking thing, and you sound trustworthy. Just put on your good bank boy voice, you'll be fine.”

“Y'know, it's just as well you use your powers for good Bob Bryar, or you'd be supervillain material.”

“I'm saving the trip to the dark side for my thirties,” Bob deadpans, then turns back to Mikey as Ray slips off to make the call. “There is an easier way of getting to the bottom of this-”

“No,” Mikey says firmly, “I'm not doing that.”

“She wouldn't even know-”

“I would, and Frank would. This is his family, Bob, you of all people know what that's like.”

“Yeah, but if they're really MagicKind then they're our family too.” Mikey says nothing, just raises one eyebrow challengingly and Bob snorts. “But maybe better give him a chance to chill out first-”

“He's on his way,” Ray interrupts, standing in the doorway, “he sounded worried but not, y'know, like he has a clue.”

“That's 'cause it's not his dad who's magic-” Bob starts but is cut off as Mikey grabs their wrists tight.

 _*For fuck's sake, we all know it's his mom, even Frank, he's not an idiot, but just-_ *

“Look,” Mikey whispers, his head hurting too much to carry on with it for long. “Remember how fucked up it was when you got your powers, and you had a good decade to prepare for it, you knew it was gonna happen and even then you ended up trashing my shop before you worked out what was going on. Give Frank a break. He's only known about magic a couple of months, and now he's a witch? That's pretty messed-”

They stop at the sound of the living room door opening, and Mikey lets go, turning back to watch as Frank emerges, Mikey wincing as Frank leaves the bubble of Gerard's influence and his thoughts return. At the tension in Mikey's shoulders, Ray reaches out, a hand pressing against his back soothingly, but it's okay; Frank is quieter now. Blank even, his mind overloaded and rebooting, processing in the background whilst his brain just focuses on simple things. Bathroom. Drink. Cigarette.

As Frank vanishes into the bathroom, Mikey slips into the kitchen and refills his glass with water, and is there waiting to hand it to Frank when he comes out again. With a nod of thanks, Frank takes it and heads outside.

They don't need Mikey's direction any more, Bob nodding to them and heading after Frank, lighter in hand as he moves, whilst Ray heads into the living room.

Alone at last, Mikey heads upstairs, not really focusing on anything, just moving, and collapses onto the nearest bed. Closing his eyes and pulling the pillow over his head, he tries not to hear anything, runs his mind through the meditations and exercises he has developed over the past year to try and push it back and regain his strength and focus.

He has a feeling he's going to need it; It's going to be a long night.

*****************************

Frank Iero (Sr.) loves his son very much. To be honest, how much terrified the Hell out of him when Frank was born, and the first few years of his life were a mix of joy and absolute panic and certainty that he was going to break his son. Then, by the time that fear faded Frank Jr. was old enough to start getting into trouble all by himself and, well, it was still something that kept his dad up at night.

So to get a phone call, from Frank's phone but from some other boy telling him Frank's in trouble- Frank Sr. knows he is breaking speed limits, but doesn't care, his heart pounding as he retraces his route back to the small town, squinting at road signs and a dodgy GPS to try and find the address the guy gave him.

But all he can see with every blink is the image of Frank laid out in a hospital bed; bruises showing up all too livid on pale skin and the mask strapped over his face making him look almost as alien as when he had been born, a little scrap of life and belligerence fighting everyone around him and a stranger yet so familiar all at once.

Frank Sr. is not a violent man, and always counted himself as rather gentle, but for those two moments he had known what he could do if he had the chance. He had known he would be prepared to kill for his son, actually known that presented with someone who had hurt his boy he would throttle them with his bare hands. 

At Frank's birth that had been an abstract concept, just the terror that haunts every parent when their child goes out of sight at the mall or is late home from a friend's house. At his hospital bed, it had been real, only the uncertainty over which of the names being bandied about as possible suspects was right had stopped him. Not knowing who had laid a finger on his son, against who had just been there, just one of the crowd-

If he was honest with himself though, at that moment he hadn't cared. Nope. Not at all. He would have happily rounded them all up, those who acted and those who simply failed to act to stop it, and taught them all how it felt to be picked on by someone bigger. Only Frank's stubborn refusal to give him a name had stopped that.

But if it had happened again, if Frank was hurt-

The houses flash past, a blur of numbers until he finds the right one, the lights on bright despite the late hour and a figure watching out of an upstairs window, silhouetted in the night. As Frank Sr. turns, pulling into the driveway, he forces himself to breathe, to calm down as the front door opens and a skinny blonde kid appears. He looks younger even than Frank, all gangly limbs and Bambi eyes behind square framed glasses, but the kid nods to him like an equal and steps down even as he throws open the car door.

“Mr Iero-” he whispers.

“Frank, where is he-”

“He's inside, he's okay, he's not-” The kid breaks off and beckons him in, and he follows, a little surprised to find another couple of guys in the hallway watching him. They almost look like bouncers, one of them throwing him a surly look, and he starts to feel sick because if this is some kind of game, if they have hurt Frank-

“Dad!” The cry is so relieved and he turns, only to find himself with an armful of his son and no breath left as it is squeezed out of him.

“Frank, are you-” He pulls back quickly, grabbing Frank's face and looking at him closely, searching him for marks. “What happened, where-”

“I'm okay, I'm not hurt-” Frank sighs and shakes his head. “I need- I just need to talk to you.”

“Talk.” Confused doesn't begin to cover it, and Frank Sr. shakes his head. “What- They said you were in some kind of trouble, what's happened?”

“Mr Iero?” Another kid emerges from nowhere, all dark hair and delicate features and he looks a lot like Frank Sr. feels. “It's kindof a long story, or might not be, depending on how much you already know, but, uh, I think you should probably sit down. And, uh, maybe have a tea or something-”

“If someone doesn't start making sense right now, Frank, I am taking you home-”

“I'm a witch,” Frank says quickly, shrugging and watching his father's face closely. “I can uh, see ghosts. Apparently. And I, uh, I was wondering if you knew anything about this?”

Stepping back, Frank Sr. exhales slowly, shocked, and shakes his head, then nods, then shakes it again. “I, I think I'm gonna need something stronger than coffee, boys.”

*****************************************

The silence in the room is oppressive as father and son both drink, sharing a bottle of beer even though both look like they could use something a Hell of a lot stronger. Gerard watches, unable to take his eyes off them, searching their faces for the familiarity, half hoping there is none, that maybe Frank is adopted, or maybe a sperm donor or affair-

But when they look up at last, facing each other as though obeying some unheard signal that it's time to talk, there's no denying the resemblance. Frank Sr. takes a deep breath and hands the bottle back to Frank.

“So, what... What did you mother say to you, what stories has she- What makes you think you're a, a-”

“Witch?” Frank shrugs. “I'm being stalked by a dead guy. Kind of a give away that something ain't right.”

“Right,” Frank Sr. says softly, but even Gee can tell he doesn't believe him. “Look, Frank, I know this must seem very real, but-”

“Why did you mention Mom?” Frank butts in, challenging his dad. “What's she got to do with this?”

“Frank-”

“Frank wait,” Bob interrupts quietly, his hand in Mikey's and, from the look of Mikey's face, deep in conversation with him. “Your dad doesn't know, he thinks you're going crazy, he doesn't believe in magic.”

“I never said that!” Frank Sr. snaps, “I never said he was crazy!” Leaning forward, he takes Frank's hand in his. “Look, son, this must seem very real and scary but it's nothing to be afraid of, after what you've been through this year, if you need some help-”

Gee fights down a fierce grin as Frank Sr. stops, staring horror struck as the beer bottle floats out of his son's fingers all by itself, wiggling in the air in front of his nose before bopping him on top of the head.

“What-”

Bob curls his outstretched fingers slightly and the bottle flies through the air towards him. Snagging it, he finishes it in one gulp before letting go again and glancing at Gerard. Gee gets maybe a seconds warning before the bottle is flying towards him and he flinches, his shields kicking in instinctively then with control, flashing as they bounce the bottle gently back instead of letting it ricochet and risk hurting someone.

“What the Holy Hell is going on here?” Frank Sr. and Mikey say at the same time, Frank jumping to his feet and Mikey letting a tiny smile play over his lips as he echoes him in perfect synchronicity. 

“How are you- Stop that! Frank, what-” 

Frank Sr. looks lost and terrified and his son shrugs and throws him a tired grin.

“Dad, meet my friends, they're witches, and we're pretty sure I am one too. Bob is telekinetic, Mikey's a telepath, Gee is a defender and healer, basically he has shields and can fix people, and Ray is psychic and sees the future. Sort of. And I can apparently see dead people.” Sighing heavily, Frank rubs a hand over his face tiredly and tugs his dad back down into his seat. “It's real whether you want to believe it or not, trust me on that, and I'm not crazy, but I will start going that way unless you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I...” Frank Sr. swallows hard and goes deathly pale. “You mean... It's real? No, no it can't- She...” He lets out a pained moan and buries his face in his hands. “Oh God, what- What have I _done?_ No wonder-” 

Mikey goes pale too and shakes his head, backing away from Ray and Bob and twisting their hands free of his before coming over to sit beside Gee, latching onto his hand tight enough to hurt as Gee instinctively reaches out, enveloping him in his shields, stopping him from feeling it all.

“Dad,” Frank whispers softly. “What- What happened?”

“I thought she was sick,” is his dad's muffled reply, face still hidden. “I thought she was just ill, it, the doctor's said it was part of the illness-” Looking up at last, he shakes his head. “Frankie, I swear, I had no idea, I thought I was doing the right thing-”

“Dad-”

“I was trying to help, I didn't mean-”

“Dad, please,” Frank whispers, leaning forward and resting his forehead against his dad's. “I need to know.”

“When I met your mother, she used to joke about being able to see ghosts, it was-” he flushes, embarrassed, “it was cute, just a joke between us, she made me swear not to tell anyone, like it was a big secret, and I did to make her happy but- Every now and then I'd catch her talking to herself, except not really to herself, like she was talking to someone else. I figured, I thought, she was doing it to wind me up, that she knew I was there, that it was part of the joke, you know?”

“Then she got pregnant. And it changed, it, Frank, she started to scare me, she got really paranoid, saying there were people out to get her, looking for her, that they wanted to steal you from her. She started babbling about how she was a witch and these guys wanted to take you and William away-”

“William?”

“He was- Like an imaginary friend, he was the only one of her made up ghost stories that was consistent. She kept saying that when you arrived she would lose William and she'd be alone and couldn't protect you any more. I- We went to a psychiatrist but she wouldn't talk to him, and she made me promise, so I didn't, I never told anyone, not even when-” He broke off, shaking his head. 

“The night Frank was born,” Mikey prompted quietly, looking at his friend. “She hates Halloween because something happened that night.”

Sighing heavily, Frank Sr. nods. “I wasn't there, you were a few weeks early and I- Your mom and I had had a fight about the therapy sessions, and I went out, I had to get a drink. You came so fast, by the time our friends found me she was already in hospital, telling this crazy story about some guys in robes trying to take her into a forest to steal her baby, they-”

“WitchFinders,” Ray suggests, looking at Frank. “If it's true, then they- There's rumours that they do that, that-” He swallows hard. “That they try to steal newborns, to keep them from the collectives.”

“It could've been real?” Shaking his head again, Frank Sr. looks down, ashamed. “We thought she'd had some kind of nervous breakdown, like the stress of labour had pushed her over the edge, but then you were born and she- She stopped talking about it. She just said she didn't remember saying anything like that and blamed it on the painkillers, laughed it off. She was... Frank, it was incredible, she was her old self again and I figured that it was just the pregnancy, like the hormones had made her a little odd for a bit.”

“She was so happy to have you, Frank,” he smiles a little, “I mean, she is an amazing mom, she loves you so completely, she was terrific with you, and sure she got a little weepy every now and then, but I never-” Breaking off again, he takes a deep breath. 

“I never thought she would hurt you,” he forces out, carefully, slowly, “so when I came home one night when you were a toddler to find a bandaid on your shoulder I accepted it when she said you caught it on the table edge. But when it came off in the bath, it- It was a burn. A weird little burn in this odd shape, and I couldn't work out why I recognised it, until I saw the same shape on her nightstand.”

Tracing a circle over his chest, he continues, anger evident in his tone but regret too. “Your mom had this pendant, she said it was for protection, some ancient symbol, but she- She'd used it to _brand_ you and I, I was so furious, I, Frank, she _scarred_ you-”

Shuddering at the memory, he continues. “I was so angry, I, I took you, I went to your grandmother's, and we-” Pale again, he tears up, guilt and anger and regret warring on his face so like Frank's. “We had your mother committed to a psychiatric hospital for help, she had severe postnatal depression and we thought, I _thought_ I was helping, I told her if she didn't tell them the truth about all her witch and ghost stories I would never let her see you again, and the doctor, he was a specialist, he said it wasn't that uncommon, that a lot of people got those delusions, especially women-”

“You sent mom to an asylum?” Frank spits out at last, shivering violently with maybe anger, maybe shock, maybe just horror and Gee can feel Mikey shake beside him too. Hurrying up from his seat in a move that startles both Iero's, Gee slips into place beside Frank and just holds his hand. He can't heal this, but he can be there for Frank, he can wrap them both up in his shields and protect Mikey at least, he can do something-

He has to do something to stop the bile rising in his throat at the thought of what had happened to Frank's mom, what almost happened to Frankie – and what might have happened to Mikey if he hadn't been able to get through his own psychological battles with his magic.

“I was helping her,” Frank Sr. mutters, “I honestly- Frank, you don't- I loved her so much, I was terrified for her, I was terrified _of_ her and what she might do to you, I, I had no choice-”

“You could've believed her,” Frank snaps back, “I thought that if you loved someone you trusted them.”

“Don't you dare-” Frank Sr. shouts, pulling back from his son, “I trusted her with everything, Frank, I trusted her with the most important thing in the world, _you_ , and she hurt you! If she had ever- It was a joke to her Frank, it wasn't like it was anything serious, it was a joke, her being able to see ghosts, it was just-” Lowering his voice again, he sighs. “It was a joke. Then it was an illness, a delusion, her little game messing with her mind, I still loved her so much and I was so proud of her when she got better, I thought- I thought we would go back to normal, that we could be a family again-”

“But she was- She never seemed the same with me after that. We just drifted apart. When we broke up I thought about fighting to keep you, it wouldn't have been hard with her history, but she'd worked so hard and she is a good mother Frankie, I swear if I'd had any lingering doubts I would never have left you with her again.”

“All those times you fought,” Frank says sadly, “over me, about her being over protective, about Halloween and everything-”

“Your mom insisted that if I couldn't believe that ghosts exist when she said it, then why should I suddenly believe in all that at Halloween, so me saying I wanted a Halloween pumpkin was me undermining her recovery, saying I didn't support her. And she's always been protective of you, I just- It was just a stupid fight. But after the incident at school and as your birthday got closer she got weird again, and I got scared and thought maybe she was relapsing but-”

“Mom's a witch,” Frank whispers. “Fuck.”

“Language,” Frank Sr. says automatically, then takes a shaky breath. “She really is a witch. Fuck.”

“So, we all know that now,” Bob points out, folding his arms across his chest, “and for the last what, fifteen odd years you've been telling her she's just crazy instead. Don't you think it's about time you told her she was right?”

Frank Sr. looks like he would rather face a firing squad, but when Frank nods, he follows suit. “We should go see her.”

They stand, but Frank startles when the others move to follow. “No, guys, no, we don't-”

“She may need convincing,” Ray points out softly, “the therapy, if she has really repressed her memories of doing magic she might-”

“Bob,” Frank says quickly, shaking off Gerard's hand and not looking at him. “Just Bob, and if- If we need anyone else then maybe your mom and dad could-”

“Yeah,” Bob agrees quickly, a tight smile on his lips. “You know they will help any way they can.”

“Frank-” Gerard starts but Frank cuts him off.

“I am not having her mobbed, and you- Don't tell anyone, not yet, not until- I need to find out why she is on her own, what happened- Keep your fucking collective away from us.”

“They can help,” Ray starts but Frank glares him into silence and he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Just- Keep away from us.” Glancing back at Gee, Frank holds his gaze, his hands clenched tight against his sides. “All of you.”


	3. Chapter 3

After the incident with his old girlfriend discovering their basement from Hell, Bob once asked his dad how he had broken the news to his mom about being a werewolf. His dad had grinned, showing way too many teeth, and simply said 'from a great distance.' His mom had gotten an odd look on her face when he asked her, thinking, before letting out a small sigh and telling him that 'love is blind, but it isn't stupid, and it knows when there are secrets being kept'. He'd always been curious as to what exactly she meant by that but it wasn't until a couple of years later that he'd been told the whole story. 

Saying his mom took it badly was sort of an understatement. And she was at least a witch, she knew about magic, about the people for whom magic was a curse instead of a gift, who weren't born into it but rather captured by it. It wasn't like they'd had to start from scratch explaining, and on the plus side her collective were open to helping the undercasts in their society, the werewolves and vampires and so on. It was actually Gerard and Mikey's grandma who had introduced them in the first place so there was that connection.

Even then, she hadn't exactly taken it well.

So Bob has heard stories, and seen for himself, how some muggles react to the freaky messed up shit that is his world. He likes to think of himself as being prepared for anything.

He is so not ready for Mama Iero.

Bob had expected incredulity, shock, surprise, maybe even a complete blank. What he hadn't expected was a full on freak out, screaming, hysteria and panic. It was horrific, truly terrifying to watch this woman break down, collapsing in on herself as her world shifted and everything she'd fought so hard to deny came true.

They'd all wondered what it would've been like to develop their powers without warning, outside the collective, to have to cope with it all alone. He'd even watched all those parallel universe episodes of their favourite shows and wondered what a world would be like where he didn't have magic, where he was just normal. But this, to spend years forgetting a nightmare only to find it was real?

It takes them a long time to calm her down, tension thick in the air and there are several times when he's sure they're gonna have to call for help, an ambulance or doctor of some sort. For a second he can't help feeling a touch of sympathy for Mr Iero; if she was like this before, it's gotta be said, he can kind of understand why he felt like she needed professional help.

But they stay strong, stay with her, and just keep trying, keep talking. There's pills rattling in bottles and water passed over, her former husband and her son beside her, sat on the floor of the kitchen with their arms around her, part comfort and part restraint, keeping her from hurting herself. But finally, as her son keeps on whispering in her ear, something shifts in her, some inner strength coming through and there, in that second, Bob can feel it, the spark within her. Yes, some witch mothers do pass their powers on, but the trace remains, the mark of magic evident on her soul like a watermark through paper, only visible if you look for it.

She looks up at last, eyes glassy but focused, staring at Bob as though finally noticing he is there. “So,” she finally whispers, making Frank jump, his gaze flitting between them as he tightens his grip on her arm. “There is a collective in the area.”

“Yes ma'am,” Bob says quickly, tensing. “A pretty big one. If you don't mind me asking,” he starts, hesitant, but she nods. “Where's yours?”

Chuckling quietly, she shakes her head. “I ran away, wanted to see the world so I ran away to New York, city of opportunity, right?” Shuddering, she leans heavily against her son. “It was a stupid thing to do but I was young, and foolish, and I, I had some stupid friends too. I got mixed up in some... Some darker stuff than I intended and I got out quick, as soon as I realised what I was doing, but I couldn't go back, even when I left it behind.” 

“Dark magics?”

Nodding slowly, she shrugs. “William tried to warn me, but I didn't listen, I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. I'm... I'm stained, no decent collective will have me. So I, I stopped practising, I mean I still saw ghosts but I just, I ignored them, mostly, I only talked to William.”

“Your guide?”

“Yeah.” She casts a sideways look at her former husband. “When I met Frank, I thought, I thought I could leave it all behind, forget it ever happened, that I was ever magic, and it worked for a while, we were, we were just normal, _happy_.” Swallowing, she stares at Frank Sr. “Weren't we?”

“We were,” Frank Sr. confirms, hugging her gently. 

“But when I got pregnant, I... I knew, I just knew I was going to pass it on, that he would be a witch, and I wouldn't be able to hide it forever, I had cursed him. I was so scared the magic I'd done would hurt him, would somehow affect him, I tried to get help, to contact a collective, I only ever used my maiden name, but I made a terrible mistake, and they noticed me.”

“WitchFinders.”

Nodding, she hangs her head. “I tried to tell you,” she whispers, “I tried to explain I was afraid, but you didn't understand and why should you, I should've trusted you before-”

“I'm so sorry, Linda,” Frank Sr. presses a kiss against her hair, his eyes dark, “I am so, so sorry, I should've listened.”

“We fought, and fought, and I pushed you away and they came for us, and it was so horrible, they were going to take you,” she turns away from her husband to face her son and lets go of them both, wrapping her fingers through Frank's hair instead, staring at his face with such intensity it was scary. “They made me go into labour and they were going to take you away from me and I'd never see you again. But I fought them, I called on everything I had, light and dark, and oh God I hadn't practised for years, and it messed me up big time, still it worked and I got away, but you were coming and I-” Laughing hollowly, she kisses his forehead. “I wasn't exactly fully in my head right then, I barely even realised I was in labour until they handed you to me and-”

Closing her eyes, she leans back against the wall, slumped and boneless. “It was like the fog clearing, like snapping back into my mind, and there you were and I was me again. But... But I lost my powers and I knew if they came again, if they tried to take you from me, I couldn't protect you. So we ran.”

“That why you insisted we move around,” Frank Sr. says softly, “and go out to Jersey.”

“It _was_ a better place to raise a child,” she laughs back, rubbing her hands over her face. “I was right about that.”

“Did you really scar me,” Frank asks at last, frowning as she nods. “Why?”

“It's a protective symbol,” she explains, “a runic charm, I can still do simple spells and charms and I can't do a white net, not a proper one, not enough to protect us all but I could hide _you_. Especially whilst I was not around.”

“The hospital,” Frank shudders, “mom-”

“Shh,” she whispers, shaking her head and pulling him close, “it was... Necessary.”

“No, it wasn't,” Frank Sr. Says quickly, shaking his head. “I should never have- I, Oh, God, Linda, I let them shock you, and the drugs, I-”

“Shhh,” she hisses, her voice slightly faded with exhaustion and the pills she took earlier. “It's okay. I thought,” curling into his side, she rests her head in his lap. “I thought I was going mad, and it was scary, but when they said the magic and WitchFinders was all a bad dream, that Frank wasn't in danger, I wanted to believe it so, so much, that he would be safe and it wouldn't hurt any more, so I... I gave in.” Closing her eyes, Bob watches, uncomfortable as tears start to drip from her lashes. “And now it's back, and I don't know if I'm awake or asleep and I don't know if this is real or I'm going crazy again.”

“You're not crazy,” Bob says quickly, shaking his head. “We can help, the collective-”

“No,” Frank hisses, shaking his head, “we don't need them-”

“Yes, you do, Frank, she needs proper help, not pills and shrinks, Grandma Elena can help, if nothing else we can help her stay calm-”

“Not yet,” Frank says, slipping up from the floor as his mother starts to drift off, his dad's fingers stroking softly through her hair. “I gotta- What if they reject her? You said yourself, they reject dark witches.”

“I'm sure it won't be that big a problem-” Bob starts, “I mean, she stopped and they accept my dad and all and he really isn't into the sort of magic that gets you put on the Christmas Card list if you know what I mean.”

“Maybe,” Frank admits, starting to pace, his fingers buried deep in his own hair. “Shit, I dunno, I just- I can't do this, not right now, I need, I need-”

“Son,” his dad says softly, looking up at him. “I don't know what's going on still, what I can do, but whatever you need, I'm right here for you, both of you, I promise.”

Nodding, Frank turns back to Bob. “Whatever you need, Iero,” Bob promises. “And I know you got a shitload to deal with, but Gee-”

“No,” Frank says quickly, shaking his head, “I can't- I can't process that right now, I can't. I can't face him yet, I-” Growling low, he paces again, “why the fuck did it have to be his Bert? Seriously, like this isn't fucked up enough?”

“We'll handle him,” Bob says quickly, standing. “Look, we'll take care of him, you just take care of yourself and call if you need us and we'll be here, okay?”

Frank nods, letting himself be folded into a brief and somehow not awkward hug, then Bob is gone, the door banging behind him but not enough to wake Linda. Sliding down the wall to sit beside his parents, Frank buries his head in his arms and wonders if anything can make this night suck more.

*******************************************

Gerard hasn't spoken since they left, his head down as he sits on the couch, an undrunk beer dangling from his fingers as he picks at the label. Ray and Mikey are at a loss, picking listlessly at the leftover food and listening out, jumping at every car door and footstep outside, every cell phone beep, just waiting for news. They're tired, the evening drawing in fast as they drift in orbit around each other, snippets of useless conversation tossed back and forth, but ultimately they're a held breath, longing for the exhale.

When Bob returns Gerard flinches, as though he had forgotten anyone else was there, even as Mikey and Ray are visibly restraining themselves from interrogating him. Gerard holds up the beer, untouched and warm, but Bob takes it gratefully and sinks down into the couch, shaking his head with a weary expression.

“So,” Ray asks quietly, when his patience can't take it any more. “What's the news?”

Taking a long drink, Bob shrugs and settles back, draping his body over the cushions. “Pretty much as horrible as it sounded when his dad said it, with added dark magic, WitchFinders, electroshock therapy, and baby stealing.” With a sigh he starts to talk, recounting what he's heard, whilst Gerard stares at his fingers, picking at the edge of a nail, rubbing at the ink stains and not saying anything. He can't help the shudders that run through him as Bob speaks, wishing he had been there to help Frank through it, yet knowing there is absolutely nothing he can say to help, to do anything about this.

But worse than that is the guilt growing in his gut because as much as he cares about Frank, as much as he feels for what that family have been through, all he keeps seeing when he closes his eyes is Bert. It's horrific and horrible but at least they are alive, at least they never ended up spilled over asphalt and metal. All he can see is Bert's eyes, not the brown that shone at him in life, or the dark circles that would stare at him in Bert's darkened bedroom, but grey, smeared through and empty. He is vaguely aware of the others still talking but he tunes them out, wondering whether Bert is still in pain, if that is what keeps him here, if he blames Gerard, if he wants some sort of closure-

If he will ever see him again and be able to ask for forgiveness.

“Do you think he's...” Gerard glances up as Ray pauses, a crinkling of the takeout bag drawing his attention as Bob starts to pick through the remnants at last, his tale done.

“What?” Bob mumbles around a spring roll, his fingers almost fumbling it but the roll righting itself in his hand just before spilling down his clothes. Ray glances at Mikey who just shrugs, as though giving him permission to voice the thought.

“Coven. I mean, it would make sense, him coming here, to a WitchKind community, that can't be an accident, and the way he and Gee reacted, what if it was, is, magic? That deep destiny stuff, that sort of thing.”

“I dunno man,” Bob says slowly, considering, “I always figured when you found your coven you'd, just, know somehow. Like fireworks or some shit.”

“You make it sound like a fucking romantic comedy,” Mikey snorts, grinning, “come on Bryar, get real. You know magic isn't actually like on TV.”

“Yeah but even so, wouldn't you two of all of us know? Mikey, you've been in his mind and didn't feel anything, and Ray, your crystal ball missed this one huh? You didn't even know he was magic!”

“Maybe _that's_ why not, maybe because we _thought_ he wasn't magic we weren't looking for any sign of it or ignored it when we saw it. I mean, I've seen more possible futures for Iero than all three of you combined but I just figured he was a tricksy motherfucker to read. But let's face it, my talents have gotten stronger since he arrived, and I know you have been getting better Bob-”

“Because I've been practising! Iero is a naggy little S.O.B, that doesn't mean he's coven.”

“But it makes sense!” Ray continues, excited now as he warms to the idea. “He was _meant_ to come here, to find us, and even him and Gee, it's really common for covens to include a couple and what are the odds of them both being into dudes, it's gotta be destiny, magic-”

“You're saying,” Gerard says slowly, carefully, his voice monotone and almost silent but suddenly it's the only noise in the room as they all stare at him, food and drink and conversation forgotten, much as they had almost forgotten he was there. “You're saying he's only with me because he's coven, because there needs to be, what, a sexual element to coven magic, and not because of... Because of me, or his own free will or anything, he is only with me because magic is making him?”

“What?” Ray pales, even his hair seeming less vibrant as the blood drains from his face. “No Gerard, that's not what I mean, I just-”

“Think that Frank doesn't know what he's doing, and maybe, I dunno,” Gerard shrugs, his face blank, “maybe if he'd known about his magic and been aware of it, maybe he would have been able to choose to ignore it instead of what? Confusing it for, for-”

“Gee,” Mikey says quickly, holding out a hand as though to still him. “No, just no, Frank's crazy about you.”

“That's just it though, that's the word, crazy, it makes no sense, why would a guy like him go for a washed out old dude like me, unless a spell or some shit was forcing him -”

“Gerard,” Bob speaks up at last, “Hell no, it's not-” 

“It makes perfect sense, I get it, and hey, if it's destiny, then maybe that's why Bert died, so I could be here and ready for Frank when he was finally old enough, I mean, even destiny's gotta respect the law right, this ain't Twilight, I can't get all predestiny and shit on a foetus, 'cause that ain't romantic that's just paedophilia-”

“Gee, no-”

“I get it!” Gerard jumps up, a too big, too bright, too manic and dangerous grin on his face as he claps his hands together. “It's great! No, listen, you're gonna love this,” he giggles, motioning with his hands as he speaks. “So, I get born and I'm fated to end up in a coven with you guys, and Frank, of course Frank, 'cept he's special, he's not just coven, I'm going to fall abso-fucking-lutely head over heels in love with him. And I grow up and it's going well, but, but then, then I turn fifteen and I meet a guy and, it's just hormones, it isn't real, it can't be, right, because destiny is saving me for Frank-”

“Gerard,” Mikey whispers sadly, but his brother doesn't even notice.

“-so I _think_ I'm in love with Bert, and I tell him everything, except about magic, everything but _that_ because I'm an idiot and think I want to be normal, and then, then I turn seventeen and there are WitchFinders in town, and Mikey is in danger, so I tell Bert, I tell the only guy I trust more than anyone else in the whole fragging universe, I ask him for help. I show him...” Closing his eyes at the memory, Gerard shudders and the others move back a little as the slight shimmer of his shields flickers around him, sending prawn crackers and chips skittering over the table with the static.

“And,” he finally continues, eyes wide again, “because he isn't meant to be with me, because it isn't real, he freaks out and-" Ducking his head, Gerard shivers and Mikey frowns. Gerard has never, ever spoken about that night, and Mikey had been too young to be allowed to ask at the time and has never wanted to pry since. 

“I don't know, it's all kind of a blur, but he was driving too fast and drunk, and they were right behind us, but there was a tree and-”

Shaking his head, Gerard screws his eyes shut again and presses his fists against them, grinding against his face until sparks fly across his vision, trying to blot out the feeling of flying, of hitting the hedgerow and feeling it scratching through his skin, the pressure of his head hitting the ground. 

“All so I could meet my coven, and Frank,” Gerard finishes, muffled. “Happy ever after and all that shit, right? Destiny. That's why Bert and I were torn apart, magic and-”

“And he was an alcoholic jerk, who treated you like shit and you would've realised it eventually but you were such a fugly little geek you latched onto the first guy who gave you any attention and went with it,” Bob snarls, shaking his head. “Bert was my friend first, you prick, and I loved him but he was a dick when he drank, just like you, and if he hadn't died then when you sobered up you would've left him, or he would've left you, or he would've knocked up some cheerleader whilst you were at home pining over him. Stop looking at the past through rose tinted glasses, Bert was a mess and he was dragging you down with him and you weren't any better for him.”

“Bob,” Ray starts, reaching out a hand to grab him but Bob shakes him off, stalking forward.

“No, I've been waiting years to say this. Gee, I'm sorry for your loss, I know it hurt like Hell, and I miss him too, so much, but I spent the whole time you were together waiting for a phone call to say you'd been arrested or beaten up or ended up in hospital or he'd left you underage and wasted at some out of state bar or some shit, and the worst bit is that call came way too often. He was my friend, but he could be a real jerk and you, you brought out the worst in him too. And the one time you asked him for help, for anything, he fucked up. Because he was a fuck up.”

“Still is, by the sounds of it, and he's fucking with Frank now. So, we deal with this the way we can; Frank. We help _Frank_ because Bert is already dead, there is _nothing_ we can do for him right now, maybe once Frank gets a handle on his powers he can do something, but again, to help Bert we need Frank, so he is our priority right now. And he needs you.”

“He needs me,” Gerard whispers, staring at Bob. “I... I can't.”

“Sleep on it,” Ray says softly, “there's nothing to be done tonight, just, y'know, let him know you're here if he needs you, and get some sleep. When he's ready, be there. That's all.”

“I-”

“Come on Gee,” Mikey whispers quietly, holding out his hand. “Let's go home. Let's just sleep, let's get some sleep. Everything seems worse at night, just...” 

Gerard looks up at last and finally sees how tired Mikey looks, grey smudges around his eyes hinting at the pain underneath. Bob is angry but determined, sinking back down into his chair at last and wiping a weary hand over his face as Bob perches next to him, running a hand along his back. 

“You can stay if you want,” Ray offers, “all of you, we've plenty of room with everyone away, the boys won't mind if I lend out their rooms.”

“I might take you up on that,” Bob sighs, leaning back into Ray's touch. “Don't feel like dealing with parents right now.”

“Amen to that,” Mikey says, smiling tightly as Gerard finally takes his hand, squeezing tight. “Come on, it will be better in the morning. Promise.”

****************************

Frank doesn't turn up at school the next day, nor is he answering his cell. Mikey pops round after school, not knocking at the door, just standing up the street and staring at the house, _calling_ until Frank appears at an upstairs window.

_*You okay?*_

_*What do you think? Mom's still a mess, we're still trying to get the rest of the story out of her, try and figure out where her collective was and all that but right now she is terrified of anything – and anyone – magic.*_

_*Oh. If you need us-*_

Mikey can feel the smile more than see it, the faint hint of warmth through the link. 

_*I'll call, promise, I just... We need time. As a family.*_

_*No worries. Just call Gee maybe. He's worried about you- What?_

The wince is felt, a slight shudder, just a shiver of warning. 

_*Mikey, I'm being haunted by his ex and dealing with all this- I can't deal with his freak out too.*_

_*Who says he's freaking out?*_

_*Bob.*_

_*I'll kill him-*_

_*It's okay, I just need some space. Tell him I'll, I'll be in touch.*_

_*I will. Take care of yourself.*_

_*Always do*_

The curtain drops closed and the connection drops, leaving Mikey alone again. Frank seems pretty good, Mikey's sure it won't be too bad. He'll be back soon. 

Frank isn't in school at all that week and it takes until the Wednesday for Mikey to realise that Nick is taking assignments home to Frank, and that the teachers have been told not to expect him at all that week. 

Or the next. 


	4. Chapter 4

Gerard is pretty proud of himself that he lasted this long. A week. A week of nothing, of not knowing what was going on with Frank, a week of wondering, and thinking, and worrying, and nightmares, and memories, and not hearing a God damned thing from him. A week without any sign of life from the guy who he's supposedly in a relationship with.

He waits until the Friday, when his folks are away at a big sales thing, pushing the Way Organic Wares (W.O.W.) herbal stuff, and Mikey is doing an extra shift at the coffee shop before snapping. The house is too quiet, too empty, the sounds of his thoughts reverberating off the walls and he has to move, to get out, to do something, to get some answers-

And just like that, he is out the door, his coat and bag left behind, just his sweater and wallet and a destination in mind.

******************************* 

Mikey is halfway through a latte when he feels it, the sickly familiar sway and nausea of alcohol blossoming in his head, wrapping like a blanket around his mind. It makes him fumble the mug, hot steam and milk hitting his leg as it drops to the floor and splits, causing a good hearted cheer from the customers, but he doesn't even notice. He's not there.

_It's twilight, it's chilly but not cold yet, but he's unnaturally warm, stumbling over the ground and it hurts, everything in his body hurts, tension stiff in his shoulders and neck, his legs tired from walking in circles, but the alcohol is starting to numb it all, including his defences._

_*Gee..?*_

The image snaps off suddenly, jolting Mikey back to the coffee shop and the hot sting of burning coffee on his fingertips and pants, making him shake and flap in pain. His boss is there, gently herding him away and out the back, and Mikey goes gratefully, making stumbling apologies and excuses about not feeling very well, and yeah, his hand is maybe too sore, maybe he should go home-

As soon as he is alone, Mikey pulls out his phone and tries Gerard, not surprised but disappointed when it goes straight to voicemail. Calling Bob, he tries to stop drumming his stinging fingers against the phone and he struggles one handed out of his work clothes and into his jeans before shoving his injured hand under the tap.

“Bob? We've got trouble, Gee, he's,” Mikey takes a shaky breath and forces the words out, “I think he's doing it again.”

*********************************

Gerard isn't lost, but to say he knows where he is wouldn't exactly be accurate either, his feet carrying him around the town on autopilot, ignoring the cool of the evening drawing in. His fingers are going numb, the bottle in his grip chilled to the touch even as the liquor within stays sickly warm. He's not dressed for the rapidly approaching winter but he doesn't care, doesn't feel it at all, the fire of the alcohol starting to overwhelm his blood stream blocking it all out.

He doesn't even notice when he reaches the cemetery, a couple of unsuccessful attempts at climbing over the wall making him almost drop his bottle. Hooking it into the hood of his top, he tries again and succeeds in dragging himself over and collapses down onto the grass beyond, the bottle smacking him in the back of the head.

“Ow.” Muttering to himself, Gerard decides to punish the bottle for its insolence by taking a long pull on it, swallowing down the sharp and chemical tasting cheap vodka. It helps numb him, but not much else by now, as he looks around him.

The newer part of the cemetery is neat, the graves cared for and tended to by family and friends, the weeds and litter held back. He hasn't been here, hasn't even set foot in the grounds, since the funeral, grief and rage and helplessness making alcohol and depression his companions instead of seeking solace in a cold dark stone that was nothing to him.

He knows where it is though, his feet stumbling through the foot worn paths between the graves to the one place he had never wanted to see again.

“Hey Bert,” Gerard slurs slightly, flopping down to the ground behind the gravestone, his knees not so much bending as giving way and dropping him onto the grass. Leaning back against the gravestone he sighs and lets his head rest against its cool and unyielding surface. In the early days they had sat like this, back to back and just talking, the contact safe and intimate at the same time and enough – until they grew bold enough to try for more, to hope the other felt the same.

Gerard takes another pull from the bottle, wiping his nose on his sleeve as the cold air begins to make his eyes water. It's the cold and the vodka making his eyes water, nothing else, and certainly not tears, no.

“So, I hear you're back in town, enjoying the scenery and all that. How long's that been going on?” Choking back the burn of bile in the back of his throat from the liquor, he sighs heavily, almost a sob at the end of the sound. “Why the fuck don't you come see me sometime, huh? I could've- I needed you Bert, why did you-”

“Four years. Four years and nothing, couldn't you, I dunno, throw some fucking plates or something or go all poltergeist on my ass or something, anything, and just let me know you were there? Or is it only now, have you-” Snorting, Gerard considers the bottle before him, sloshing it to judge how much is left behind the paper bag. 

“Or is it Frank, you've come for him, for us, now, just because I'm, I was fucking happy for once, because I let myself forget for a bit and maybe even start to get over you, is that it? You too fucking jealous to let me go? Or is this more fun than haunting me direct, targeting him, you still not forgiven me Bert?”

Wrapping his lips around the bottle, Gerard lets the final fire of the booze burn through him again, swallowing steadily even as his stomach starts to gurgle in protest. “Why should you,” He mutters at last, letting the nearly empty bottle drop down to his side. “I haven't forgiven myself.” Closing his eyes, Gerard rubs his hand over his arm, tracing over scars that are barely visible on his skin itself, let alone through his clothes, but that he knows are there. 

“I wanted to join you, Bert. I thought, if I just... I wanted it to stop, so much, if Mikey hadn't-” Shuddering, he shakes his head. “You know how hard it is to kill yourself when you can heal yourself too? Fucking survival instinct.”

He can remember the sound of Mikey's voice in his ears, yelling, screaming at him and ordering him not to die, so forceful he just obeyed, barely even noticing the fierce pressure of Mikey pressing Gerard's own palm against his bleeding arms. “I thought you'd be there,” he slurs at last. “I thought...”

Sighing again, his breath as weary and exhausted as he feels, he can feel the cold starting to seep its way through to his veins, his body shivering. Sinking down onto the grass, he wraps his arms around himself and curls up into a ball, his back to the gravestone.

“Thought maybe you'd forgive me,” he snuffles to himself. “I didn't- Didn' mean to kill you.” As his breathing steadies off and the bottle slides from his fingers, for a second, just a moment, Gerard thinks he sees a flicker of light through the trees and a figure that looks a little like a pirate staring back at him.

Hallucinations, wonderful, just what this night needed.

Letting consciousness flee from him, Gerard lies still in the cemetery as the deadly glitter of the frost starts to form over him, making his body sparkle in the evening light.

***************************************

Mikey is panicking, his breath too fast as the light fades and the prickle of frost starts to form in the air. It's cold, a freezing night, once of the first truly wintry ones of an unusually mild season and his brother is out there in it somewhere, without even a fucking coat. Ray is beside him, hand pressed against his spine, warm and soothing, anchoring him down even as he feels like he's about to fly apart at the seams.

“I can't find him, Ray,” Mikey mutters, sounding so lost that Ray shivers inside his warm coat. “What if he's-”

“He'll be okay,” Ray whispers to him, rubbing over his back in small circles. “You don't usually know where he is.”

“If he blocks me, yeah, or is too far away, but I did feel him, he was pretty out of it and I felt him for a bit, he might have done something, he might have...”

Mikey trails off as the liquor store door chimes and Bob emerges, his expression even grumpier than usual. “Yeah he was here, 'bout two hours ago, bought a stupidly big bottle of cheap vodka and left.”

“Shit,” Ray mutters, a gentle squeeze of his hand on Mikey's shoulder lending support. “Least we know why he's out of it, he's wasted, so, usual spots, comic shop, behind the studios-”

“I'll take the studio, you two check the shop, then start ringing round, see if anyone's seen him.”

“We could get the collective-”

“No,” Mikey sniffs, shaking his head. “No because we can't explain why he's upset without- We have to give Frank space.”

“Gee might've gone there though,” Bob admits, slipping his phone out of his pocket. “I'll text Frank, you two get going, call when you find the stupid son of a bitch.”

“Hey, she's my mother too,” Mikey says, managing to force a tight smile onto his face that Bob matches.

“Okay, point taken motherfucker, now go find him.”

************************************

Frank Iero Jr. is tired. So incredibly bone deep tired. He feels like shit, his head is fucking killing him, warm and heavy with tension and rage and relief and worry and he just wants it all to stop. His body is rebelling and dragging him to sleep one blink at a time, even as he tries to shrug it off. As he curls up on his side on the couch, his parents still talking softly in the kitchen, a lifetime's worth of apologies and forgiveness being offered and maybe even an old flame rekindled – or at least laid to rest properly. 

It's been such a long week, and so draining, piecing together the hidden history of his family, discovering a whole side he didn't even know about. There's so much still to learn, to find out, about his powers and his mum's family who he'd thought were all dead. His mom is still pretty wrecked, the first few days spent in a haze of sleep and fear as she had to adjust to the new reality; the past she's run away from and denied for so long is real. She's starting to accept it though, although whether she's accepting this as reality or thinking that she has finally snapped he's not sure, but she's talking at least.

About everything and anything, a rambling mess of childhood stories and bits of films and superstition. It's as though all seventeen years of repressing every hint of magic, everything she's come across, every Harry Potter reference or bad movie, has been trapped in a bubble and they poked it with a pin. It's an explosion of... Crap mostly, but he's getting better at picking out the real stuff mixed in, writing it down and sorting through it all on google and Gerard's notes on magic. It's part genealogy, part detective work and part sheer dumb luck and random movie trivia and mostly confusing as Hell.

On top of that, he's barely keeping up with his sent home school work, unsure how long his 'chest infection' story will keep the school happy (even with _his_ medical history) and he misses everyone. He even misses school, the simple, steady reality of lesson after lesson and crap food in the lunchroom and Brendon's jokes and Nick's knowing smile and-

Gee. He misses Gee so much it hurts but right now he has no idea what to say, no strength left to cope with anything. He just wants to be held, but seriously, how can he just say that to Gerard, how can he go round there now and not talk, just _be_ , how can he expect the guys to hold back? And each day he leaves it it feels heavier, deeper, like a bigger and bigger deal, every day needing more and more energy just to get started, and it's too much, he's running on empty. 

Not to mention it's kindof awkward trying to get a few minutes peace without his parents watching him, as though afraid he's gonna bust out a pair of wings or some shit like that. He can't talk properly over the phone, and email or text just won't do it. He needs to see Gerard, needs to be with him, in person, but every time he pictures himself saying 'just hold me' like some emo girl he feels like a fucking idiot.

But maybe Gerard will understand, maybe he could just go round for a few minutes, or meet in the park or maybe he can get out for a quick coffee tomorrow, maybe...

He'll call Gee, he really should go see him.

In a minute. Just five minutes sleep won't hurt, a cat nap, just to catch up. Then maybe he will have enough strength to cope.

As he drifts off he can hear his phone beep in the other room, but it might as well be another universe for all Frank could reach it right now.

*****************************************

The club is noisy around Frank, just like he remembers it, but the people are blurs, snapping in and out of focus as he looks around the room. The music is muffled, dull and repetitive and vaguely familiar yet unplaceable. Frank just dances anyway, moving automatically.

“Frank!”

Turning, he grins. “Pirate dude! What was it, Willy? Billy?”

Sighing, the guy shakes his head. “Bill or William, but really, now is not the time, Frank-”

“Dance with me, cutie,” Frank chuckles, sliding up close and grabbing hold of the edges of Bill's waistcoat.

“I can't-”

“Come on, it's easy, just move those hips-”

“Frank! Now is not the time, I need to tell you-”

“Why d'you dress like a pirate anyway?” Frank asks, grinning as he slips his hands down to the sash on Bill's waist.

“Your mother liked it-”

“Was that a yo momma joke?” Frank laughs, “seriously, from the guy dressed like he should be wearing eyeliner and-” Squinting closer, he huffs in surprise. “Oh, you are, next thing you'll be asking why all the rum is gone.”

“Frank, I didn't want to have to do this, but...” Raising his hand, Bill slaps him round the face. Hard.

“OW! Motherfucker! That hurts!” Rubbing his face, Frank glares at him. “Dreams aren't supposed to hurt.”

“Actually, this is less a dream and more a deep meditative dream state which allows your subconscious mind to connect with mine more fully and give me control of my surroundings rather than being a spectator in yours.”

Frank thinks about that one, mulls it over in his mind, runs each word through his mental thesaurus and comes up with an intelligent, witty and erudite answer. “Huh?”

“It's my dream, not yours.”

“Your dream.”

“Yes!”

“This is fucked up.”

“You get used to it, but I don't have time to run through the usual training with you yet, you have to wake up, now, you have to move-”

“Oh come on, I just got to sleep!”

“Actually that was a good hour ago but it doesn't matter, you have to get up and go, now, before it's too late-”

“Before what's too late?” Frank frowns as the club starts to fade away, the music dying and everything going odd and grey.

“Your friend, Gerard, the knight, he is in great danger-”

Gee?” Frank feels wide awake, his anger at Gerard fading a little. “Why, what-”

“No time to explain, but he is in the cemetery and if he succumbs and his soul should become too weak it may be supplanted by the fragment of Master McCracken's-”

“Can't you ever speak English? What the Hell's going on?”

Sighing heavily, Bill grabs hold of Frank's hand and the world shifts, the familiar sights and smells of the cemetery flicking into place around him.

With two additions.

“Gee, what- Get your hands off him!”

Gerard is unconscious, curled up in a ball on the ground beside a grave, his body flecked silver in the moonlight, only the cloudy puffs of his breath showing any signs of life. But behind him, curled up to spoon around his body and half through the grave stone, is the ghoul, Frank's own personal undead heckler, Bert. As Frank watches, Bert's fingers pass through Gerard's hair, not even stirring it but there's still a shiver through Gerard's body.

“Get off him!”

“This isn't real Frank,” William says quickly, urgency in his tone, “we're not here, you're still asleep, to be here you have to wake up and just go already! Save him before it's too late, before-”

Frank wakes up with a shout, his heart pounding as his brain ricochets off his skull, but Frank doesn't even notice. It takes him a couple of seconds to slip into his converse, laces tucked inside to avoid doing them up, then he's off, running through the house and out the back door past his startled parents. Frank easily wriggles through the gap in the thinning hedge even as his dad yells after him, and he's off into the grounds.

It's so quiet, so peaceful, that he starts to wonder if it was just a dream, a nightmare of guilt and confusion, but then he sees something. It's only out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of not quite light, not quite a form, like a firefly or reflection, and he frowns.

“Bill?”

There's no answer, but somehow he gets the feeling the strange pirate guy is there with him, whether as a lingering fragment of the dream or some kind of spirit, he doesn't care.

Actually, he could be having a full on mental breakdown or bad trip, but hey, if so, it would at least explain a fucking lot.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the sharp sting of the frosty air in his lungs, Frank starts to run, instinctively knowing Gerard is at Bert's grave, and that has to be in the newer section of the cemetery up at the top.

Either that or he is losing his mind. After the day he's had, that might actually be a nice relief, but since when has his luck ever been that good?

****************************

Frank is shivering by the time he gets up to the newer section of graves, his thin layers not enough to push back the cold night, but he doesn't really notice. The raw sting of frost in his lungs keeps him alert, his eyes scanning through the graves, trying to remember from his dream anything he'd seen that could let him know where he is going.

A soft glow seems to be coming from somewhere to his right and he heads towards it, stumbling on the slick grass and reaching out to grab graves to steady and pull himself on. The glow is weird, like maybe the light from a cell phone or something, but yellower, making him think of Tinkerbell from Peter Pan for some reason (what, Peter Pan fought pirates, it's not girlie to have liked it as a kid. Disney rocks.) As he draws close, he can see something sticking out into the path ahead of him, glinting in the moonlight. 

“Oh, Gee...” Frank breathes, skidding to a halt beside the abandoned vodka bottle and there, tucked up in the shadow of a grave, is Gerard, curled up tight into a ball. 

And he's not alone.

“Get away from him,” Frank hisses, soft but deadly. “Get your fucking ectoplasm, or whatever the Hell you have now, off him.”

Bert grins, shrugging as he looks up from his position, sat cross legged beside Gerard's body and stroking through his hair. “Or what? You'll go all exorcist on me? You didn't even know I was a ghost, Iero, took you this long to even figure it out, you really think you get the skills to do anything about it?”

“I can try,” Frank yells, concentrating as he swings a punch at Bert and growls as his fist passes through air, the sensation thick, like a change in air pressure, and freezing, but nothing like the first time he'd pushed Bert. 

“Really? You think? You did better the first time, guess there's something you're doing wrong.” Still sitting there, Bert closes his eyes and presses his hand against Gerard's chest, making a slow shudder run through Gerard as fingers start to slip through skin and bone. “Maybe if you could get over your jealousy for a second, you'd try and actually help your so called boyfriend out before he gets hypothermia-”

“Gee.” Dropping to his knees, Frank grabs at Gerard's shoulders, shaking him. “Come on you fucking idiot, wake up, come on-” Trying to lift him up, Frank struggles with the dead weight and knows he can't carry him far enough to get help, and his phone-

His phone is back at the house, fuck. 

“Come on Gee, where's your phone?” Patting him down, he can't find it, can't know that it was deliberately left behind and has been buzzing all to itself down in the basement of the Way house.

“Who you gonna call,” Bert mocks, folding his arms as he watches, a slight grin on his face. “'Sides, this is what he wants, has wanted for years, and I'll be waiting for him this time-”

“Call...” Frank smiles slightly and carries on trying to shift Gerard up, wrapping his arms around him and pressing their bodies together as tight as he can, lifting their shirts to get as much skin to skin contact as possible. But in spite of the situation, he isn't even thinking about Gerard any more.

He's thinking of Mikey.

***************************

Mikey stops walking, frowning as he looks around, hearing something. Ray notices him and stops too. “What's wrong?”

“You hear that?” Shaking his head Ray listens hard, watching Mikey's face as it jumps in shock. “There, again, you hear something?”

“I got nothing-”

“Frank!” Mikey grabs Ray's hands, holding tight. “Frank is calling me, he, maybe he-”

“Where is he?” 

Frowning, Mikey closes his eyes, _listening_ carefully now he understands what he was hearing. Frank's voice is clearer, just calling his name over and over, but there is something more, a flash of an image, a word, engraved in stone-

“Bert, Bert's grave, they're at the cemetery.”

Grabbing onto Mikey's arm to steady him, Ray nods and tugs him back down the path they way they came, pulling his phone out as they move. “I'll call Bob, you tell Frank we're on the way.”

Mikey nods, letting himself be guided across the pavement, the gentle hum of Bob's voice and thoughts soothing as he does his best to send something back to Frank. He's so jittery it's hard to focus and he's not sure he got through but it doesn't matter. Gerard isn't alone, Frank's with him. It's going to be okay.

He's going to be okay.

Mikey repeats it like a mantra, cycling the words round and round in his head like a spell, as though if he does it often enough, in groups of three, then he can make the words be true.

***************************************

Frank is seriously pissed off now. He's freezing, shivering against the press of Gerard's too cold skin against his, limbs wrapped haphazardly together to try and keep him warm. Frank could probably cope with the cold; it hasn't been that long and seriously, at least it isn't fucking rainy this time. Besides, help is hopefully on the way, or his dad will track him down soon, so they won't be here much longer.

He can even just about cope with the constant gloating and mockery from the ghost of Bert, perching owl style on top of his own headstone, and reminiscing about how he used to fuck Gerard in some field somewhere; Frank reminding himself that he's actually alive and the one who is with Gee now takes some of the sting out of that one, even if some of Bert's blows hit home all too well, raising an angry flush that does nothing to keep him warm.

He can even handle the fact that he really, badly, wants a drink but Gerard polished off or spilt the last of the vodka before passing out. It doesn't help his mood that Gerard stinks of it to the extent that Frank really kind of hopes he did spill it.

Nope, all of that is annoying as Hell, but it isn't what pushes Frank over the edge from annoyed into really, truly, pissed off. It's when Gerard starts to shake in his sleep, a weird rumbling sound echoing through his body, and an odd hiccuping sensation thrumming between them that Frank pauses, twisting to look at Gee's face-

Frank only just manages to wriggle out of the way in time before Gerard hurls, coughing and retching into the grass as Frank struggles to keep him from covering them both in it. It takes all Frank's effort to hold him up, to stop him from just faceplanting into the puddle, and it's only when it finally stops and he twists them away from the slightly steaming mess (and boy did he not need to see that, really), that he realises Gerard hasn't even woken up.

“Son of a- For fuck's sake Gerard.” Muttering, Frank pulls his clothes tighter around himself and shuffles over the hard ground to pull, prod and roll Gerard into something vaguely resembling the recovery position, or at least close enough to stop him choking on his own puke should he do it again. “You fucking retard.”

“Language,” Bert mocks, shifting back and forth on his haunches, waggling a finger at Frank.

“Screw you,” Frank snaps back, fed up with everything now as he collapses down to rest against Gerard's back, burying his face in his hands. “How is this even my life?”

“Well, if you're a freak like the Way's then I guess it's just what you deserve.”

“They are not freaks!” Frank looks up, a small frown line between his eyebrows. “They... _We're_...”

“Oh come on kid, you don't have to play dumb with me, he told me all about it. His family, the way things work, the things he will have to do to hide away who he is. And that's on top of being the faggotiest little fairy in the land.” Bert leans lower, grinning obscenely. “That said, he does suck cock like a pro-”

“Shut. Up.”

“Did take a while to train him though, getting him to take more each time, hey, I wonder if he ever sucks you off and compares it to me-”

“Least I can get sucked off, can ghosts even jerk themselves off or you got a celibate eternity ahead of you?”

“Does he make those little noises when you slam into him,” Bert smirks, leaning so far over that if he was real he would surely be falling off the grave but instead he just seems to float there, “those little gasps, like ah, ah, ah-”

Bert breaks off as the faint squeal of brakes that can only be from Bob's car whine through the air as a faint sweep of light catches his eyes and Frank lets out a sigh of relief. “About time.” As the rattle of the chains tightening against the main gate drifts through the air, Frank stands and waves his hands, hoping his pale skin and the movement will attract their attention. “Over here!”

The bobbing of a flashlight shines his way and he fights to stop his teeth chattering as he kneels down by Gerard again, poking him gently in the side. “There, see, now everyone is freezing their asses off to drag you home, least you can do is wake up and say hi.” The lack of response is still freaking him out a little, but Gerard is breathing, slow and steady ,and hasn't thrown up again so that has to be good, right?

“Frank!” Mikey almost stumbles as he comes closer, surprising Frank with a fierce hug as Ray and Bob check Gerard out.

“Mikey, what?”

“I heard you,” Mikey mutters, clinging to his neck, “I heard you and I knew he wasn't alone, thank you, I just-”

Hugging him back, Frank nods, a little overwhelmed at the gratitude and relief coming off of Mikey in waves, echoing in his mind and more than a little confusing. “He's okay, I mean, drunk as a skunk, but no harm done, right?”

“More's the pity,” Bert sighs, and Mikey stiffens in his arms as Frank shifts to look past him at the ghost. “Mmm, little baby Mikey Way grew up cute, damn, maybe I went for the wrong brother-”

“Seriously,” Frank sighs, pointing at Bert behind Mikey's back, “don't you ever just shut the fuck up?”

“Why don't you make me, you're the one with the whole 'I see dead people' thing going on?”

“Soon as I figure out how-”

“Frank?” Bob asks quietly, his gaze fixed on Frank even as Ray uses a dirty towel or something to clean Gerard's face up a bit. “Bert's here, now?”

“Sitting on his own gravestone,” Frank confirms, eyes locked on Bert's even as Bob rises, following his gaze.

“Bert?” Bert grins and looks at Bob, something approaching genuine happiness on his features.

“Bryar, good to see you again man. I'd say thanks for the flowers but seriously, the beer you poured on my grave was so much better than any fucking lillies, that had to be your mom's idea, right?”

Frank frowns as he relays the words, Mikey twisting out of his grip and moving to help Ray with his brother. Bob shivers, but nods, shuffling his feet a little. “She said flowers, dad said whisky. Could only sneak out some beer though.” He hesitates, as though considering his words, then nods to himself and continues. “We're gonna go sort Gee out now, but uh, we'll figure out how to you know, fix this-”

“Fix me?” Bert laughs, shaking his head as he grins at Frank instead now. “Oh Frankie, tell my old gang that this, this isn't something they're going to fix, no.” Jumping off the grave, he crouches down in front of Frank and stares at him and Frank shudders, really looking at Bert for the first time and seeing his eyes. They are nothing like in Gerard's drawing, they are blank and dark and hollow, the grey veils of death still hovering there and marking an empty house. “This is just the beginning. We are going to have some fun, you and me.”

As the figure of Bert fades out before Frank, becoming as insubstantial as candlesmoke and drifting forward to envelop him, Frank shudders at the sound of Bert humming right into his ear and slightly off key the tune of _I'll be watching you._ It takes a couple of seconds for him to get his breathing under control, his body shivering both from the cold and the experience, tired and cold and drained. Suddenly Bob is by his side, tugging him to his feet and he can feel himself sway slightly even as Ray and Mikey lift Gerard up, his head lolling between them as they drape his arms over their shoulders and link hands under his legs to make a chair.

“You okay?” Bob asks, his stocky strength almost holding Frank up as his teeth start to chatter again.

“Will be. Let's get the fuck out of here, eh?”

**************************************************

Frank finishes the awkward phone call to his parents on Mikey's cell and hangs up as they pull up at the Way house, passing the phone back as Ray gives him a small grin. “Pissed?”

“Beyond belief,” Frank confirms, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I have had a really shit week.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Ray offers quietly and Frank shakes his head.

“Hell no.”

“Good,” Bob shoots back gruffly and gets out of the car, ready to help carry Gerard into the house. “'Cause I've had enough of that for a lifetime already.”

“Bob Bryar, ladies and gentlemen,” Ray announces, pushing Gerard off of his shoulder and out the door towards Bob and Mikey, “world's most empathetic man.”

“I leave all the girlie feelings shit to you and Gerard.” Grunting, Bob catches his shoulders and drags the unconscious Gerard out of the car even as Ray slides to follow and grab his legs. Mikey helps Frank out, his limbs still slightly shaky for some reason, and Frank has the urge to ask to go home, to just hit his own bed.

But then he catches sight of Gerard and knows he is staying here tonight. Besides, he can't deny the thought of getting away from his folks for a night, of leaving the brooding atmosphere of the house, is kind of appealing the more he thinks about it.

Letting himself be dragged inside, he doesn't even blink as Mikey helps him down the stairs to Gee's room, the pair of them settling down either side of Gerard and pulling and prodding at clothes until the three of them are down to just t shirts and borrowed sweatpants from the laundry pile. A handful of wet wipes gets Gerard less gross Frank barely even notices when Ray and Bob go, a bucket dumped beside the bed, alongside a bottle of water and painkillers, but he notices when Mikey clambers into the bed beside them and tugs the blanket up over the three of them.

They don't even speak, just curl up either side of Gerard, arms draped over him. Frank is almost asleep when he picks up the faint whisper from Mikey.

“Did Bert hurt him?”

For a second Frank has no idea what he's said and has to roll the words over in his mind until his brain can match the sounds up to actual language. “What? No, no I don't...” Frank thinks, remembering the shiver that ran through Gerard at Bert's touch and realises that actually, he has no idea. Can ghosts even hurt the living?

He really needs to talk to his mom. Like, now.

Well, in the morning.

“I don't think so,” he says at last, shivering himself at the memory. There was definitely something not right about the whole night, but he can't put his finger on it.

“Good,” Mikey murmurs, burying his face in Gee's back. “How'd you know? How did you find him?”

Frank is half asleep, exhaustion taking over him, but he smiles tiredly and shrugs. “Dreamed it. Maybe I have a little of Ray in me.”

Snorting, Mikey fidgets to get comfortable. “Don't tell Gee that, he's the jealous type.”

It's not even that funny but the laugh surprises Frank, forcing its way out and suddenly they are gone, giggling like idiots even as they drift off to sleep at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to CarbonJen for the yankpick and general beta help - any remaining mistakes or inconsistencies with UK to US English are completely my own fault.


End file.
